to hell and back.

Chapter 7

Vaggie told me you needed a hairbrush, so I got you one. See you at dinner!
<3 Charlie

"What is it? Who's it from?" Angel asks. I ignore him, reading the words once, twice, a third time. Charlie got me a hairbrush. When? How did she get into my room? With a master key or something? I gingerly set the card down back in the box and look at the gum. Why did she give me a pack of gum? Did my breath smell that bad?

"Hello? Are you alive in there Barbie doll?"

"Yeah. It's from Charlie. Just some things, I guess," I say.

"Intresting." His voice is slippery and low. Vague.

I look up at him with suspicious eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Huh."

I take the hairbrush, gum, and box (which was empty except for the card) and walk back to the bathroom. After popping a piece of minty gum in my mouth, I brush my hair thoroughly, watching it slowly transform from rough and tangled to silky smooth.

I leave the bathroom to look for my dress. I find it discarded on the floor beneath the window. Avoiding Angel's gaze, I pick the dress up and walk to the bathroom to change.

ᯬ

I wish I had some makeup or something.

My face looks as flat as a field covered with dead grass. My freckles are barely there, and after going days without moisturizer, my skin has started to get ashy. My long eyelashes are their natural brown color. I glance in the shower for something that might help, but all that I find is a mini tub of shampoo, another with conditioner, and two bars of soap - one for the face, one for the body.

I pick up the face soap and give my skin a rinse over the sink. It's the best I can do.

When I come out, Angel is rolling around, groaning. Probably out of boredom. "Holy hell, why does it take you so fucking long to put a dress on over your head?" he asks, sitting up and glancing over at me. "You only look one percent better anyways. Maybe some booze will help."

I slide my feet into the black heels that I've worn all day and open the door to leave. My feet don't feel sore - yet. I used to walk around in high heels a lot, back when I had to dress up at school for every lacrosse game I had.

Angel walks with me to the elevators. As we stand, waiting for it to go down, I turn and get a good look at him.

"What are you staring at, Barbie doll?"

"You," I say honestly.

"What, am I just too much for you to handle? You want a piece of this cake?"

"Ha. No, actually."

"Well good. I don't swing your way anyways."

"Does that mean you're gay?"

"Gay is such a straightforward word. My attraction to people is much more complex than just being gay," he says. "But, speaking technically, yes. I am gay."

"That explains a lot," I say with a small smile.

He scoffs, but says nothing.

"How did you die?"

"Touchy subject." His voice lowers an octave. I look into his eyes, but he doesn't meet my gaze.